Chapter 11
ELEVEN
CORA
My head hurts.
That’s the first thing I think when I wake up.
I pop some Tylenol, then manage to get dressed and ready for the day.
The dementia facility where Mom is has asked me to stop in today to sign some paperwork.
She’s getting a little worse every day, and a different care plan has been put in place for her.
I think it’s part of the reason I drank so much last night because coping with losing her while she’s still alive is so fucking hard.
And then I remember that kiss with Arlo.
What was I fucking thinking? I know not to mix business with pleasure, and I did it with a man who is already cockier than necessary.
Did I inflate his ego by kissing him in public?
I can’t think about him and the way he kissed me right now because even through my hangover, I’m pretty sure it was the best kiss I’ve ever experienced.
And his beads, those beads he uses to fuck other women while he chokes them… why does that not turn me off of him? It should. I’ve never done something like that before, but the thought of them wrapped tightly around my neck as they dig into my skin sits on my mind.
I get in the car and receive a notification that the paperwork was sent to Arlo, who then refused it.
Of course he did.
The weekend can’t come soon enough.
This week has been a damn shit show, and it’s only early.
When I arrive at the facility, I make sure to go and say hello to my mother first thing, and today is a good day because she offers me a smile.
I give her a kiss on the cheek, and she pulls back and stares up at me.
I tell her I won’t be able to pop in for the next week, and she looks confused and doesn’t respond.
I take a bar of white chocolate out of my bag and leave it on her bedside table before kissing her goodbye.
When I leave Mom’s room, I meet up with Barry, one of the nurses I talk to regularly regarding my mother.
He goes over some paperwork with me, explaining it all, and shows me where to sign.
This facility is expensive, and it’s one of the reasons I work as hard as I do, to be able to afford it and still have my own life.
I’ve finally reached a point in life where the cost of her care doesn’t hurt my bank account every time it is deducted.
It took a lot of time and pain to get where I am, but I guess the outcome is worth it because they do look after her very well.
My phone rings as I step outside, and I see Arlo’s name pop up on my screen. I’m contemplating not answering it.
Will he ask about the kiss last night?
Will he ask to see me again?
Just as I think it, I realize I’m wrong. He’s requesting my presence. He wants me to deliver the paperwork.
Lifting the phone to my ear, I take a deep breath before I speak. “Hello.”
“You sent someone else when the request was that you deliver it personally?” he growls into the phone, and I hear a door click shut in the background.
“Yes. I had an urgent meeting to attend to.”
“You know my stipulations. Bring them yourself if you want them signed.”
“You’re extremely bossy.” I bite the inside of my cheek at my sudden outburst. I blame the hangover.
“Yes, I am. In more ways than one.” He continues when I don’t say anything. “I’ll see you soon, correct?”
“I’m on my way over now,” I tell him, and then hang up.
My office is on the way to his, so I stop in quickly to collect the paperwork I need. With the files in hand, I head down the hall and step into his waiting room, expecting to see a client or two. Instead, it’s empty except for the receptionist.
“Oh, good, you’re here. I can take my break,” she says, standing and grabbing her phone, which throws me off for a second. Before I can ask, she adds, “He told me to tell you to go straight in.”
“Where are his patients?” I question.
“He canceled all his appointments for the day,” she says with a shrug before rounding the desk and heading out the door, leaving me standing in the waiting room, stunned.
Why would he cancel his appointments?
I don’t get it.
Just as I think about dropping the paperwork on the desk and walking out, his office door opens, and he appears.
“Cora.” He nods and holds the door open for me, and I’m frozen in place, clutching the paperwork as I lock eyes with him.
This man.
I can’t work him out.
I know he likes to say I’m hard to read, but so is he.
“Are you thinking of running?” He raises a perfect brow as he adds, “I like it when they run.”
“‘They?” I question.
He doesn’t answer, just motions for me to enter the office.
Taking a deep breath, I manage to compose myself and put one sky-high heel in front of the other as I make my way over to him.
Once I’m seated, I hear the click of the door shutting.
Without looking at Arlo, I wait for him to take his seat across from me.
Except he doesn’t do that at all. He sits next to me on the sofa.
Shuffling the paperwork, I find the place where I need him to sign. Reaching into my purse, I grab a pen. Then I turn toward him and hand it to him. He stares at me, not even making a move to take the paperwork.
“I need you to sign. I have many other things I need to attend to today,” I tell him.
“Do you want to talk about the kiss?” he asks, still not taking the damn paperwork.
“No, I would rather not.”
“So, you do remember.” His lip twitches.
“I do. So, if you could please…” I hold the pen out to him.
“How was it for you? Did you enjoy it?”
I shoot him a confused look as I ask, “The kiss?”
“Yes, the kiss.”
“From what I can remember, it was quite enjoyable,” I reply. I see something flash behind his eyes at my response before he nods.
“Enjoyable. What an interesting word to use,” he muses as he looks down at the pen still in my outstretched hand.
“How would you describe it?” I ask.
He takes the pen then, and I place my hand in my lap.
“I think I could kiss you better.” Arlo fixes his gaze on the paperwork as he leans over the table, signs it, and when he’s done, he hands me the pen but doesn’t let go when I try to take it. Then he looks me dead in the eye and adds, “On your cunt.”
Holy hell! His words shock me.
So much so that when he lets go of the pen, I do too, and it drops on the floor.
A slow and steady smirk attaches itself to his lips. “It upsets you that I use that word.”
“It’s vulgar,” I whisper, trying valiantly to ignore the pulsing in my core from the way his mouth moved on that hard C.
“Is it? I think not.”
I lean over and pick up the pen, then put it into my bag. When I sit up, he clasps my chin and angles my head ever so slowly to face him, dragging his fingers over my face and down to my neck. I feel the goosebumps breaking out where he’s touched me.
He doesn’t stop. His gaze is fixed on me, watching for every reaction.
My breathing becomes more rapid than before.
He picks up on it, though, as if it were his intention.
His hand falls to the upper curve of my breast, then he pauses.
I know my nipples are peaked under the lace bralette I have on, and he can see the response his touch is having on my body.
It’s unfair.
To me.
When I don’t push him away, he moves me backward so my back hits the couch as his hand leaves my blouse.
His fingers move and then touch the edge of my pencil skirt, and without thinking, I wrap my legs around his as he moves me to his desk, my ass landing on it.
I feel him now, how hard he is between my legs.
When I look down, I can see the bulge in his trousers, and it’s good to know that the same effect he has on me, I have on him.
I try really hard to keep my breathing steady and not give anything away, but I think that’s impossible, especially with how hot my body feels with him this close.
He moves his hand farther up my skirt, and then it suddenly stops.
“I can make you feel good,” he says, pulling back.
He offers me his hand, and my eyes glance at the bulge he still has as I willingly take it.
One of his hands slides around to my back and pulls me flush to him, our bodies now locked together.
He drops my hand and pushes a strand of hair behind my ear as he leans down and whispers, “Do you want me to make you feel good?”
I should say no.
Run the other way.
But, no! I nod as he presses closer to me.
I feel him against my clit, applying pressure with his body.
He’s hard, and he wants me. That does a lot for someone’s ego.
When a man as powerful and intelligent as Arlo wants someone like me, it is like winning the lottery.
Not to say I’m less than, but I didn’t go to college.
I’m self-made, which, in my opinion, is just as amazing.
But to the really rich, they look down on me when they ask what degrees I hold, and I have nothing with which to reply.
“I can see you losing yourself in your mind,” he says, and I glance up at him.
When I meet his eyes, he lifts my shirt and finds my nipple, squeezing it between his fingers, then leans down until his mouth barely touches mine—just a whisper—before he bites my bottom lip and flexes his fingers against my waist.
My hips start moving, and before I can think clearly, I’m grinding on him. And it feels good.
“All for you,” he croons, then all of a sudden, like water being thrown over a fire, there’s a knock on the door, breaking the spell.
I jump, and my lip is still between his teeth, so they scrape against my flesh as I pull back. He removes his hands from me, and I instantly taste blood. I lift my hand to my lip at the stinging sensation when another knock sounds. This time, it was not me taking his blood. It was him tasting mine.
“Fuck off,” he says, low and dark. I raise my head to find him watching me.
“No,” a man declares from the other side of the door.
“Fuck. I have to see him.” He rubs a hand through his hair, messing it just the perfect amount.
“I-I have to go. Congratulations again,” I stammer.
I grab my purse, and he follows me to the door, saying, “I want to see you again.” I start to pull it open, but he shuts it as he hovers behind me, his hand finding my waist again, and a whisper ghosts over my ear. “Tonight.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head and trying the door again. He pulls me back against him, and my ass cradles his hard cock.
“I don’t beg,” he states.
“Good, neither do I.” When I pull a third time, the door opens, and standing on the other side is a tall man with tattoos on his knuckles. He locks eyes with me before his gaze slides behind me to where Arlo is standing. I can still feel the burn of his presence on my back.
“Have a good day,” I blurt out, then rush off as fast as I can without actually running.
From him. From me.
From everything.
Fuck!